


Power Over Me

by HandsAcrossTheSea, trashhearts67



Series: alpha4alpha [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Dean Winchester, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pit Licking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Sam Winchester, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 20:32:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/pseuds/trashhearts67
Summary: Dean's always going to run after Sam, no matter what.Timestamp #1 in the alpha4alpha verse





	Power Over Me

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally plotted this as part of a larger fic, but since this and its counterparts were so different in nature, I'm publishing each as a standalone. They're all going to be porn, so... brace yourselves. I think we can all appreciate at this point that this series is nothing *but* porn. I blame Cali, one hundred percent.

Each pull up makes the wood above the doorjamb creak. Probably in a way that Sam should find alarming, but hell, it’s raining and he’s not really willing to run the four miles to the gym, not today.

Maybe if Dean chased him all the way there.

Dean’s watching a movie, some action film that Sam’s realizing they’ve seen about a hundred times before. No matter what motel they’re in, what state they’re in - it’s always on. The dialogue sounds familiar in a way that he’s waiting on one particular quote to remind him what it is - for now, he’s going to keep doing pull ups. Using a surface that almost certainly  _ wasn’t  _ meant to assist in lifting 215 pounds of alpha muscle off the ground. Whatever. Until he breaks something crucial, he’s going to keep doing it. Just because he can.

He’s starting to sweat too, the a/c busted and the full throated roar of summer invading every fucking corner of the United States. They’re in Virginia, but that doesn’t seem to make a whole hell of a lot of difference - it’s still too damned hot. Hot where when they’re on the road, they don’t wear shirts and sleep without the covers. Sam can get behind that, because waking up to an eyeful of naked, sleepy Dean every morning is something he’s never going to hate. 

“You’re gonna break somethin’.” Dean shifts on the bed, and Sam hears the gentle scrape of glass from the night stand, followed by the soft glug of Dean finishing his water. They’ve been going through the stuff like it’s drying up lately, and Dean seems to always let a little drip down his chin when Sam’s watching.

Like Sam’s that easy to bring down. Dean’ll have to try harder than that to break his concentration. They’ve already lost enough time over the last few days to fucking each other’s brains out - once the rain lets up, they’ve got to start the legwork for this case.

And yet, all this waiting is making Sam antsy, because Dean is always fucking there and he smells incredible and for whatever reason, that’s all he cares about. Fuck trying to kill monsters for a change - he’d rather have his big brother’s tight hole and dripping slick all over his face.

Sam growls to himself, his alpha whining for  _ something.  _ Jesus Christ, three men and two women were mysteriously beheaded, and all he can think about is appeasing his damn knot. For the briefest of moments, he feels guilty for even indulging the thought, then goes back to pull ups. He’s around 150 now, give or take. Not that he’s counting.

Enough will be when either he makes the wall bend or his traps hurt so much he can’t move them.

“Gotta piss,” Dean mumbles, and gets up to walk to the bathroom. He doesn’t shut the door, so Sam hears everything - zipper down, the soft slide of Dean’s cock against the cotton of his boxer briefs, the little sigh he lets out when he pulls his foreskin back and lets it go; loud, long, with the groan of relief being completely, utterly unnecessary. Sam sniffs the air, the scent of piss and Dean being way too fucking connected in his head these days to make him believe he isn’t at least a little fucked up.

Not that he needed to be told before. Knotting his brother on the regular and chasing ghosts should have been the first big red sign in the road trip.

Sam drops to the ground, running shoes already on because he hated the way the carpet felt under his toes. Hell, he  _ was  _ going to run anyway - partly to see if Dean would chase him. The wind’s blowing right so that he could make it all downhill with the breeze streaming behind him, blowing scent right back in Dean’s face. He likes making Dean work for it, because he’s faster and it’s fun to watch Dean get all smug once he “catches” him.

He’s facing Dean when he comes out of the bathroom, suspended from the doorjamb, arms stretched up and pits on full display. Dean wants to play dirty, fine - Sam can do the same.

Dean stops, mouth slamming shut after hanging open for a few seconds, watching Sam without shame. “What?”

“Nothing.” Sam raises himself again, legs curling to his stomach, then back down again. He’s definitely too tall to keep going, but now that he knows he has Dean’s attention, he’s not going to stop.

“Yeah, nothing. Yeah.” Dean shifts his weight, fingers curling at his sides. Sam keeps going, perfectly content to wait. Dean’s going to do  _ something  - _ even if it’s still unclear at this point what that something is. All Sam has to do is keep doing pull ups and flashing his pits, because Dean, no matter how hard he tries to pretend he isn’t, is a musk slut and Sam has too fucking much to keep to himself. Not wearing deodorant anymore was just the first step, and it didn’t take long before Dean was just shoving his face under Sam’s arm when he felt like it.

“‘S free, baby.” Sam lets go, bends to touch his toes, and realizes that the rain has stopped - maybe he can help Dean make the decision for himself. “Unless you’d rather find some other peep show.”

Dean rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “Peep shows, really? Nah, if you’re gonna perv, do it honestly. Strippers ain’t gonna be mad you’re lookin’ at em.” 

“Think I’d make a good stripper?” Sam rolls his shoulders, satisfied that he’s sweating enough to have all of Dean’s interest. “Could always put on some music and find out.”

“Would have to find a damn big pole for you to swing around.” 

It really is too easy sometimes, and getting to wind Dean up in the process? Fucking  _ priceless. _

“Already have one.” Sam crosses the room to get his key, still watching Dean try to process him being just so casually sweaty in the middle of the day. “Gonna go for a run.”

He’s out the door before Dean can say another word.

The air still holds the rain, but it’s no longer coming down from the sky. Already the sun is forcing its way through the clouds, warming his shoulders and chest as the rays make steam rise from the sidewalk. Sam isn’t actually sure where he’s running - just that the wind is trailing behind him, and all of that scent is gonna start blowing back in Dean’s direction. It’s not that Dean  _ can’t  _  - he simply chooses not to. Fine, that’s his choice, but he also knows that Dean’s resistance tends to crumble like a house of cards when Sam starts to sweat. This time of year, Sam is hardly ever  _ not  _ sweating.

There’s a copse of trees in the distance, and Sam starts pounding the pavement harder. It’s freeing, to just take off like this, his long legs sailing over the gentle downhill slope. He probably should have put his hair up before he started, but it’s windy enough it’s mostly staying back from his face anyway. The way isn’t crowded - having just rained, there aren’t exactly a whole lot of people out - so his mind is free to drift, circling always back to Dean. Last night, after dinner Dean had thrown Sam down on the bed and barely got his jeans off before he sank down on him, first with his mouth, then his ass, holding Sam where  _ he  _ wanted him. Sam had growled, struggled, tried to knock Dean off but fuck if he didn’t manage it, Dean riding him slow and close because he’s finally figured out that he won’t get his throat ripped out if he does.

Sam wouldn’t, ever, but watching Dean demand control and take it from Sam with just a well placed bite or lick - it’s scintillating. Every other time, Dean is face down and ass up but for the last little while, Sam’s been living rather well with watching Dean grind down on his knot. That’s the image he fixes in his head, making his cock swell against his compression shorts - not that they’re going to do much good in hiding the fact that he’s getting turned on. He’s throwing off enough musk that every omega within a few hundred feet is going to smell him and if they aren’t already wet, they will be. 

It doesn’t take long before he picks up Dean on the wind too, not far behind.

_ Gotcha. _

Sam doesn’t turn around to look and see where Dean is, just keeps moving, deep, even breaths, every scent heightened. The red clay of Piedmont Virginia is rich, reminding him that he’s going to turn back to it someday. It’s as likely that he and Dean will burn where they fall, but if ever there was a place to be buried, it would be here. This part of the United States, it’s too damn pretty to not lie here in eternal rest. Hell, their next case could put an end to them - but Sam likes to think it won’t. Hell has already tried to come for them both, and they’d gotten out of it alive. Dean had put himself between Sam and the nastiest demons they’ve ever seen. Hellhounds, goddamn Lucifer himself - they’ve made them eat shit. If they can pull through that, anything’s fucking possible.

He turns down the lane into the trees, slowing a little until he finds an appropriate spot to peel off, muscles thrumming and flexing. Sam steps over underbrush, roots, bushes, until he comes to a small clearing, listening for the sound of anything that might threaten his impromptu plan. Nothing’s there, nothing but him, the sweat rolling down his back and the approaching scent of Dean, making Sam lick his lips. He’s free to touch himself now, a solid three miles away from their motel, secluded enough that it feels like he’s the only person in town right now.

“C’mon, alpha, you know where I am.” Sam cups his bulge, wet with sweat and precome already, leaning back against an oak tree. The sun can’t quite get down through the leaves, shading him just enough that he sees Dean a moment before Dean spots him, t-shirt soaked with sweat and his running shorts clinging to his ass, prettily.

“Throw off enough musk like that and you’re gonna have every omega in the county chasing you.” Dean finally spots him, eyes locking on where Sam’s working himself up to full hardness. “Lucky it was just me chasing you.”

“And now you’ve caught me, what are you gonna do?” Sam dips his hand under the waistband, satisfied with how wet he’s getting. Dean watches, every minute move of his muscles captivating him, breath catching when Sam licks the precome off of his fingers. “Think it might be a bad idea to let me go again, don’t you?”

“Depends - bad for me or you.”

Sam grins, letting Dean get close, aching to know what he’ll do next. “Dean, I can smell your ass dripping already - you aren’t going anywhere.” He pushes his shorts down, letting Dean see how hard he’s gotten. Dean looks dead at him, eyes getting big, and yeah, Sam knows exactly what he wants. His mouth or hole, Sam isn’t particular about which. Either one will make him come hard enough he forgets his own damn name.

Dean stops a foot in front of him, eyes drifting up from Sam’s cock to his face, taking in every bead of sweat - so it feels - on his way. “Fuckin’ enough to make a praying man get down on his knees and beg, Sammy.” His voice gets low and rough, closing the gap until he’s near enough to rest his hands on Sam’s hips. “Thing is, I like to start a little higher.”

“Never picked you for the praying type, Dean.”

“Nah. Got other ways of worshiping.”

He’s got Sam’s left arm snapped up so fast over his head that Sam’s knee-jerk reaction is to try and throw him - but Dean’s tongue licking up the inside of his bicep puts a cold stop to that, the full weight of his body pressed against Sam and keeping him pinned to the tree. This is the part where Sam really does surrender, letting Dean get lost in his musk. His pits are like fucking kryptonite, and he’s welcome to die for Dean’s tongue in them. He’s sweating, so goddamn much, and Dean just shoves his face in, one hand keeping Sam’s wrist in place, the other against his stomach, just near enough to his cock to be a fucking tease.

“Fuck, Dean, don’t fuckin’ stop.” Sam closes his eyes, head resting against the bark. He can smell the sap sticking to his naked back, mixing with his musk, hand working where he’s stroking his cock. Precome leaks against Dean’s t-shirt and alright, that’s got to go, because he wants to feel Dean. Needs to touch, grope, squeeze, find some way of getting fucking  _ closer. _

He shoves Dean off, yanks his shirt off and pulls his shorts to his thighs, grabs him for a kiss. Dean growls, putting Sam’s arm back above his head when he raids Sam’s mouth with his tongue. The scent of slick punches the air right out of Sam’s lungs, greedy as he reaches around to rub Dean’s dripping hole. Fuck, he’s already opened up some, and even with the bad angle, it’s enough to get two fingers in and start prepping him.

Dean licks, eats his pits out like he’s going at Sam’s hole, alternating, licking to Sam’s chest and then back again. He’s got so much fucking hair under his arms now, convinced it’s because Dean likes to shove his face in them. He pulls off, kisses Sam again, letting him slide a third in. He opens right up to him, better now after four years of being each other’s number one, hell,  _ only -  _ it’s as natural as breathing to them, this constant want for each other’s bodies.

“You’re a fucking pig,” Sam growls, tasting the salt of his own sweat in his mouth. “Ought to piss on your fuckin’ face, just to remind you even more.”

Dean licks Sam’s chin, turning around and presenting his ass like it’s come naturally to him. “Talk a lot of shit for someone who was just moaning loud enough to wake up the damn neighborhood.

He shuts up when Sam feeds his slick-wet fingers into his mouth, spinning them so that Dean’s against the tree and Sam’s arm is wrapped around his middle, not giving two shits if anyone can hear them right now. Dean whines, Sam’s cock brushing against his hole, making his knot start to swell. Sam drops his fingers from Dean’s mouth, holding Dean’s dick steady while he lines up and shoves into his body, no fucking resistance, just all wet, perfect heat. Dean growls, guides Sam’s hand down his shaft so that he’s half grasping his knot, milking as he settles inside Dean fully. 

“Perfect,” Sam whispers, stroking up and covering his fingers in Dean’s precome. He’s a drippy, leaky fuck from both ends, especially with the taste of Sam’s pits in his mouth. “God, Dean, always so fuckin’ wet for me.”

“Move, princess, or I’ll move myself.” Dean’s trying to keep control and not just fuck himself back on Sam’s knot, braced against the tree like it’s the only thing capable of holding him up. Sam pulls Dean up right, shoves Dean’s legs further apart with his foot. Dean complies, just like he always does, head dropping and amulet swinging as Sam gives him what he wanted all along.

“Really don’t think you’re in a position to be callin’ me anything else other than  _ alpha. _ ” Sam growls, bites Dean’s shoulder, one hand keeping place over Dean’s wrists above his head. Dean’s back arches, neck craning for a kiss and Sam gives it freely, listening to Dean moan as he changes the angle, nailing Dean in the sweet spot every fucking time. They’re dripping, sweating, making a goddamn mess of each other, making enough noise that anyone walking by is very likely to hear them. Dean’s a noisy, squirmy fuck when it’s just them behind closed doors but out here? He’s freed up, crying out,  _ Sam Sam Sam Sam  _ a constant, near rhythmic chant. Sam fucks him harder, hand never stilling on his cock, milking the come out of him. He wants to feel Dean explode, spatter against the tree, load tag the spot where they pulled each other apart yet again. 

“Swear your nuts are gonna bruise me again,” Dean growls, panting for breath as Sam slows down. “Not drainin’ ‘em enough?”

Sam smirks, licks sweat up from Dean’s neck. “Think you’re doing pretty damn good.” He’s close, already, his knot starting to catch against Dean’s gaped hole. Christ, he’s a sight, his back and ass flushed deep pink, especially around the stretch of Sam’s cock.

“Stop lookin’,” Dean hisses, drawing himself nearly upright. “Can inspect your masterpiece after you’ve painted my guts.” Dean squeezes Sam’s fingers around his dick, urgent in a way that Sam’s taken to recognize as Dean’s alpha isn’t going to let anything else happen until he’s blown. Sam picks right back up, huffing hot breath against the back of Dean’s head. 

“Think that’s gonna get me to give you what you want?” Sam fucks, like he’s in rut, fast and right where Dean wants him. “Just because you’re beggin’ to get your cunt stuffed I’ll let you come?” Christ, it’s shit talk, but it makes Dean growl back, loud enough to be dangerous - only Sam’s knot swells up and locks in, pushing Dean’s hole wider and that’s it, he’s coming, growling, filling Dean up over and over until he can feel it trying to leak back out of him. He’s a wreck, shaking, pushing Dean against the the tree and he feels it, Dean’s come spattering all over the bark and hearing it hit the foliage around them. 

Bleachy, dark - that’s how it smells, and there’s so, so much of it, Dean’s muscles pulsing and contracting around Sam’s dick, his knot trying to fill Sam’s fingers. Sam tugs, coaxes the rest out of him and he knows they’re locked here for a few minutes, focusing Dean’s glans until he’s shaking again.

“Sammy, shit, I… fuck, you’re gonna make…  _ Sammy. _ ” Dean’s voice is pitched higher, louder, and Sam pulls them back just far enough that he gets covered again, Dean’s cock pointed upwards, piss arcing up and covering them both. Sam jerks him through it, Dean howling the whole fucking time. Testing each other’s limits is regular enough now that Sam knows he’s found the end of Dean’s for the time being, and he lets go as soon as Dean’s run dry, arms around him as his knot finally loosens, both of them so fucking soaked that it’s like the rain’s fallen yet again.

“You… fuck, Sammy, you could have just said you wanted that.” Dean’s a mess, spun around so that Sam’s arms are holding him up and Sam is against the tree once again. “Dirty little brat.”

“And?” Sam licks his neck, settling his nose behind his ear. “Feel better now, don’t you?”

“Plenty of other ways to get there.” Dean doesn’t pull away, even if he is still shaking. “You know I’m not gonna be able to walk back any time soon, right?”

“Yeah.” Sam traces lazy circles with his fingers over Dean’s chest, as close to cuddling as they’re going to get right now. “Starting to think sex in the woods wasn’t so brilliant a plan after all.”

“Better than that graveyard last week.” Sam still has the bruise from where part of a crumbly statue hit his shoulder, the result of Dean pinning him against a massive headstone. “At least it’s not-”

Thunder rumbles overhead, and Dean gives Sam a look so glaring that he feels compelled to shrink back.

“You’re gonna fucking carry me.”

Sam laughs, and because he’s a good brother, hoists Dean up over his shoulder and pulls his shorts up. Dean yelps, grasping whatever slick part of Sam he can reach.

“I swear to God I’m gonna kill you.” Dean grumbles, his shirt stuffed in the back of Sam’s shorts. “I can walk, fucker.”

“You’re just mad because you couldn’t stop yourself running after me.”

Dean grumbles, but Sam knows it’s for show. “You’re the one who flashed tits and all, Sammy, not me.”

“If I put you down and let you breed my mouth when we get back, will you stop bitching?”

Dean doesn’t quite shut up, but he does put the hustle on Sam to get back indoors.

Even when it starts to pour again.

Sam figures a little rain is worth watching Dean’s ass in clingy shorts  _ any  _ day.


End file.
